PORSCHE 911 CARRERA S
LEARLY, MY FRESHLY MINTED ARGUMENT ISN’T
going to hold water. After a few hours swapping from low-slung
Audi to LMP1-serious McLaren and back again, I’m all set to hop
back into the Porsche and declare it lacking as an out-and-out
sports car. I mean, do they not have physics or history books in Germany?
Haven’t they read about how, some half a century ago, the plucky British
popped a ditch-pump in the middle of a single-seater, rather than at the
front, and gleefully brought about the mid-engined revolution in Grand Prix
racing (after a tease from Auto Union in the 1930s)? Don’t expect to compete
when your engine’s at the back and you’ve space for four — physics doesn’t
negotiate. Honestly. A little homework wouldn’t have gone amiss, lads.
Three minutes later, like a big-fee prosecutor whose entire case has just
been shot from under him by a rogue DNA result, I’m left in absolutely no
doubt that a fundamental re-think is in order.
This magnificent stretch of empty Lincolnshire B-road is doing almost
everything at once, generously scattering spring-stretching crests and chin-
scarring compressions upon an impressive bedrock of endless corners:
corners of every conceivable camber, radius, and severity.
Just when you expect the Carrera S to start running out of answers —
when you push it to really excel and excite in the company of two true mid-
engined supercars, on a stretch of road that asks for grip, power, agility, and
driver confidence all at once — it simply refuses to do so, preferring instead
to go to another level; one that, in the words of Carly Simon, makes you feel
sad for the rest.
Allow me to elaborate. First, imagine your dream driving position: butt on
the deck; great seats that are comfortable because they’re the right shape, not
because they’re fat with padding; and a wheel that feels incredibly rigid —
somehow engineered — in your slightly clammy palms. In front of you, the
new 911’s new touchscreen infotainment and similarly slick frameless,
floating driving instruments. Capable of showing everything from your nav
route to a night-vision image of all the innocent nocturnal mammals you’re
bearing down upon, it’s nevertheless of no interest now: you need only the
huge central tacho. Twirl the drive mode wheel on the wheel to at least Sport
(ergonomically, the McLaren wins here — fussy though its Active
Dynamics panel is, it’s the only mode selection system that doesn’t ask for a
visual check) and depress one of the five central toggle switches, with their
deliciously precise, military finish, to slacken the stability control leash. Into
Drive on the lovely little selector, prod M for manual shifting, go.
Great fast cars breed trust and in moments you’d trust the Carrera S with
your life, the lives of your children and — no kidding — that of your dog.
As speeds and effort build, the Porsche refuses to relinquish its composure.
Body control is virtually absolute, with no roll and, thanks in part to a new
generation of more sophisticated PASM damper, wheel movements are
dealt with in a single stroke, with no lost motion to manage or allow for. At
the same time you guide the low, broad nose apparently on thought alone,
as if the intervening physical mechanism — your arms and hands, the car’s
wheel and electrically assisted power steering — cease to exist. The front
axle’s dependability under duress is astonishing and the biggest dynamic
step forward over the 991. But still you don’t need to be driving like your
trousers are on fire to enjoy the Porsche’s chassis: it delights and rewards at
any speed.
But while grip and stability are beyond reproach (the Carrera S’s 21-inchIn a word?
Emphatic
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